


permanence in the little things

by leafpile



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leafpile/pseuds/leafpile
Summary: Suguru laughs loudly at that, unabashed and pretty and a sound that has Tetsurou so,soenamoured, and when he eventually turns away from the sink—flicking his wet hands towards Tetsurou and purposely spraying droplets of water towards him—Tetsurou thinksyeah, this is the man I’m going to marry.He doesn’t doubt himself for even asecond.(the one where kuroo and daishou get engaged. that's it.)
Relationships: Daishou Suguru/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 14
Kudos: 134





	permanence in the little things

**Author's Note:**

> im aware of how unreasonable it might be for this to take place in a single day but its my work of fiction and i get to decide the timeframe!! anyways please enjoy :'-) writing somewhat "short" things is out of my comfort zone so i am trying something new here! i hope its okay! <3
> 
> _(title from[permanence — bears in trees](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1WqvlqrYcYE))_

It’s an early Thursday morning when Kuroo Tetsurou realises that he wants to spend the rest of his life with Daishou Suguru.

The sun peeks in through a small gap in the curtains, unfairly bright, and the warm rays cast delicate stripes across Suguru’s sleeping form, gentle and inviting. His bare skin glows almost golden in the light, faint freckles and dark moles dotting out patterns that Tetsurou knows like the back of his hand, able to trace a finger between them perfectly even if he were to close his eyes; he reaches forward tiredly, his touch featherlight where it ghosts along Suguru’s back, joining up the constellations and drifting from freckle to mole and across the bumpy texture of faded stretchmark scars.

Suguru makes a small noise, a vaguely displeased hum, and lazily shrugs his shoulder in an attempt to shake off Tetsurou’s hand.

 _“Fuck off,”_ he drawls, voice slurred with sleep and partly muffled into his pillow, “’m tired.”

“You’re always tired,” Tetsurou replies softly, throwing his arm over Suguru’s waist and shuffling closer to press against his back, planting a chaste kiss on the nape of his neck before leaning his chin atop his shoulder, “it’s time to get up, lazy.”

He receives nothing but a hand pushing his face away in response, and Suguru quickly pulls the blankets up over his head when Tetsurou laughs.

“No, hey,” he clambers to sit up and tugs the blankets back, ignoring Suguru’s annoyed groan, “you do this every morning.”

“Yeah,” Suguru huffs, “and I’m going to keep doing it every morning until you learn to just let me sleep.”

Defeated—because he knows that he’s not going to be left alone, at this point—he rolls over, lightly shoving Tetsurou aside so he can sprawl out on his back, taking up most of the room in their double bed.

He’s beautiful.

It’s not a new revelation by all means, because Tetsurou has thought that Suguru was beautiful from the very first day they met, but when he lounges amongst the sheets like a reclining woman of a renaissance painting, all soft curves and smooth skin, it’s impossible not to comment on how unfairly gorgeous he is. He doesn’t even have to _try_ , relaxed and half-asleep, his arms stretching languidly above his head as he yawns, yet Tetsurou still thinks he’s the prettiest person he’s ever seen in his life.

His eyes are closed, eyelashes dark against the pale flush of his cheeks, short hair ruffled and messy from turning in his sleep—and again, it’s not exactly a _new_ revelation when Tetsurou realises that after almost six years, he’s positively certain there’s no one else he’d rather wake up besides; it’s just that only now has it fully settled in, the true extent of what that _means_.

He _wants_ to wake up next to Suguru for the rest of his life. He wants the early-morning kisses and the soft looks reserved for when they’re alone together, the teasing nicknames and the snide little jabs and the small giggles of laughter that follow, he wants the hugs and the handholding and the bad days and the good days and he wants them all _forever_.

Suguru cracks one eye open, then, gaze locking with Tetsurou’s, and the two of them look silently at each other for a minute before he snaps.

“Stop staring at me,” Suguru mumbles, raising a hand to weakly flip Tetsurou off and then dropping it on his stomach.

“I’m not allowed to stare at my boyfriend?”

“No.”

Tetsurou laughs as he leans down to kiss him, humming happily when Suguru links an arm around his neck and pulls him in closer. It’s easy and sweet, a slow slide of lips and hands moving to gently thread fingers through each other’s hair, until Suguru pulls away with a sigh and scrunches his face up in an endearing pout.

“Morning breath,” he explains, without Tetsurou needing to even ask.

“You have it too, you know,” Tetsurou pinches his cheek, “I’m not complaining.”

 _“Ew,”_ Suguru grimaces, “you should be.”

There’s a sparkle in his eyes, bright from the sunlight, and a twitch at the corner of his mouth as he holds back a smile; Tetsurou grins, dorky and wide and so completely smitten, and presses back in for another kiss. Suguru doesn’t push him away.

“I never complain about anything,” he says, lips pressed to Suguru’s, “I love you.”

He feels the stretch of Suguru’s smile against his mouth.

“You complain about _everything_ , Tetsu,” he twists his fingers into Tetsurou’s hair, tugging gently as he teases, “but I love you, too.”

Tetsurou kisses lazily at his jaw, hands drifting to slide past his shoulders, down the smooth planes of his chest as his fingers trail lightly past scars and bruises and the occasional blemish, small imperfections that are so profoundly perfect in Tetsurou’s eyes; tiny little pieces of the puzzle that is the love of his life, something akin to the way stars are formed from simple particles of dust.

Daishou Suguru is an entire _galaxy_ , millions and billions of stars, and Tetsurou is drawn further and further into his orbit with every single minute they spend together.

One of his hands fumbles lower, around to Suguru’s hip, fingers kneading into the soft skin there like he’s done hundreds of times before, receiving a sweet and lazy sigh in response.

When his boyfriend eventually snakes a leg between his—hooking his foot around the back of a calf and dragging _closer_ , pressing himself up against Tetsurou’s side as his hands start to roam—all Tetsurou can do is huff out an amused little laugh against his mouth.

It takes them another hour before they manage to get out of bed.

* * *

In the kitchen, Suguru busies himself with making some coffee, bare feet padding against the floor and one of Tetsurou’s old shirts hanging loosely from his torso as he shuffles around, two mugs in his hand and a lazy squint on his face like he’s _still_ not fully awake yet.

Tetsurou leans against the countertop next to where Suguru is stood, watching him easily prepare both of their own specific drinks in a daily routine that’s become second-nature after so many years—arguably, this was never something that they particularly struggled with learning about each other, because Tetsurou has been making Suguru’s coffee since they were both sixteen and first started drinking it; plenty of milk and plenty of sugar until it’s basically no longer recognisable as coffee.

His own palette is less refined, happy with just plain black and nothing fancy, and Suguru pulls a face and scrunches his nose up in disgust every single time. He’ll do it again today, undoubtedly, and he’ll do it _again_ when Tetsurou tries to kiss him after drinking his coffee, pushing him away and mumbling complaints under his breath.

Their morning routine is a repeating pattern, waking up together, spending half of their time in bed as Tetsurou tries— _and fails_ —to convince Suguru to finally get _out_ of the bed, idle chitchat and playful bickering over breakfast, and then they’re dressed and off to do whatever it is they have planned that day; it’s never _boring_ , because Daishou Suguru has never bored Tetsurou a day in his life.

They’ve known each other since they were eleven. It’s fair to say that Tetsurou has been kept on his toes the _entire_ time. They share a strange history of endless ups and downs, from best friends to sworn rivals and ending up in a stable partnership lasting nearly six years now; there were some bumps along the way, like when they were seventeen and the lingering glances and strange growing tension between them resulted in a kiss, their first kiss, something they never spoke of again and pretended had never happened when they were back to being _“enemies”_ the next year.

Tetsurou had pined after Suguru for _so_ many years, and when they’d reconnected again at twenty-one, when they’d been genuine friends for another two years and Suguru had confessed that he’d always felt the same, that he’d always _always_ liked Tetsurou and he didn’t know how to handle it anymore—Tetsurou had kissed him for real, that time, nothing like the awkward and fumbled peck when they were teenagers, but something _real_ , twenty-three and grown up and with Suguru fisting his hands in Tetsurou’s shirt and pulling him so close that Tetsurou had never wanted to leave.

He still hasn’t.

(He never will.)

Suguru nudges Tetsurou’s shoulder with his own, pressing a warm mug into his hands before sidling up next to him and leaning back against the counter, hips bumping and arms flush as he lifts his own mug to his mouth and takes a slow sip of his overly sugary concoction. He hums contently to himself and then turns, watching Tetsurou drink his coffee with lazy eyes, a countdown of three, two, one—he wrinkles his nose up right on cue.

Tetsurou laughs loudly, unable to help himself, and Suguru promptly rolls his eyes.

“You’re always so noisy,” he takes another sip, scowling behind the rim, “are you going to be like this forever?”

Tetsurou pauses for a second at _“forever”_ , nothing but a small slip of the tongue, a casual remark, but in this moment, with Tetsurou’s thoughts today centred solely around their future, it’s _everything_.

“I don’t think you’d mind,” he says, knowing, _pushing_ , “if I were like this forever.”

Suguru eyes him carefully, head tilting as he holds Tetsurou’s gaze with something equally as cautious, _thinking_ , and then his cheeks flush with a pretty pink before he looks away.

“Whatever.” There’s a twitch in his cheek like he’s biting back a smile.

Tetsurou can’t ever get enough of him.

He offers a quiet _“come here”_ , tugging gently at his shirt to pull him in, and Suguru settles into his space with no hesitance at all. Tetsurou reaches behind him, putting his half-finished coffee down onto the countertop, and then snakes his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, leaning down—

There’s a hand against his face, then, fingers splayed across his cheek and nose and holding him back from pressing in any closer.

 _“Nope,”_ Suguru smirks, all kinds of smug and so unfairly attractive, and Kuroo huffs out a defeated laugh, a quiet little mutter of _“you’re cruel”_ , before resting his head on his shoulder, nuzzling into the crook of his collar, a naturally perfect fit.

He hears the clink of a mug against the counter and then feels a hand sliding around his hip, warm palm gliding under his shirt and pressing comfortably into the curves there, as another settles at the back of his neck and fingers start to card gently through the stray curls.

“Your hair’s getting long,” Suguru muses, and Tetsurou only mumbles a muffled noise of agreement into his skin.

They stand like this—chest-to-chest and with barely an inch of space between them, whispering quiet words of lazy conversation and occasionally sipping at their now-cold coffee—for what feels like an eternity; if Suguru notices anything particularly _off_ about Tetsurou’s behaviour today, he doesn’t comment on it.

* * *

Tetsurou doesn’t know anything about ring sizing.

He doesn’t think _anyone_ knows anything about ring sizing, really. Anybody who claims to know their own ring size, or their partners ring size, is _definitely_ lying, because he doesn’t think the topic of _“what size ring do you wear?”_ has ever come up in conversation during the seventeen years that he’s known Suguru. _Ever_.

(Tetsurou knows anything and everything there is to know about his boyfriend, if only because he _does_ ask stupid questions sometimes. He enjoys asking stupid questions, enjoys the _responses_ ; the annoyed and vaguely baffled snap of _“no?”_ when he’d asked _“do you believe in ghosts?”_ when they were thirteen, the surprisingly sincere reply of _“a frog, I suppose”_ when they were seventeen and Tetsurou wondered what kind of pet Suguru had always wanted. He knows anything and everything, from his favourite colour—red—to his most hated pair of socks—they’re rainbow-striped, Mika had bought them for him as a joke one Christmas.

He doesn’t know his ring size.)

Tetsurou decides the best idea for this, according to a guide he read on the internet after frantically searching _"how to find out partners ring size"_ , is to snag a regular every-day ring out of Suguru’s jewellery box and quickly trace it onto a piece of paper. There’s no rush, given that Suguru is at practice and won’t be home for a few hours, but Tetsurou is eager to get out and start his hunt for the perfect ring.

He carefully puts the jewellery back where he found it, not disturbing anything else in the box, and then neatly folds up the paper and slips it into his pocket as he makes his way out of the house.

After moving from store to store to store and asking every jeweller the same set of questions and looking through all of their very expensive rings, he ends up at a smaller store, tucked away in a quiet side street, and the assistant behind the counter greets him with a warm smile and polite bow when he enters. He returns the gesture before stepping cautiously towards one of the display cases, leaning forward slightly and peering in at the sparkling jewellery held safe below the thick glass.

This process has made his stomach churn every single time he’s repeated it now, and despite this being the fifth time, it’s not doing _anything_ at all to quell his nerves, face hot and palms feeling clammy as he wipes them distractedly on the thighs of his jeans.

He knows what type of jewellery Suguru likes, aesthetically: his necklaces are always layered and cluttered, sometimes tangling around his neck, with his earrings often being similarly obnoxious and dangly, while his rings tend to be surprisingly plain and simple.

He also knows that Suguru doesn’t get the chance to wear jewellery often, constantly tied up between volleyball practice and then matches; if he were to wear an engagement ring, hypothetically, if he were to say _yes_ , it’s one he’s going to have to remove fairly frequently so as not to get in the way of playing, or to prevent it being damaged, or, in the worst case scenario, so it doesn’t take his entire finger off in a nasty case of ring avulsion. _Yikes_.

There are plenty of pretty rings in the display case, thin and beautiful and shining with large diamonds and crystals like bright statement pieces. Suguru wouldn’t do big diamonds. Tetsurou has heard him say it before, a scathing comment of _“flashy wedding rings are kind of tacky”_ while they were watching some bad reality TV show, and he’d laughed at the pure unfiltered genuineness of it all without giving it too much thought. He remembers it, though, and he opts for something a little more subdued, stepping to the side and eyeing the more minimalist rings.

His ongoing silence—or maybe the way he’s anxiously biting at his nails—is apparently a cause for concern, and after a few more seconds, the store assistant decides to, _well_ , offer her assistance.

“Can I help you with anything today, sir?” She asks kindly, genuine, and Tetsurou looks up for a moment before glancing back at the rings.

 _“Uh_ , sure, thank you,” he nods, fidgeting awkwardly with his fingers as he stands up straight, “I’m thinking of proposing to my boyfriend, actually.”

She beams gleefully at this, evidently overjoyed, and asks Tetsurou if he has any ideas about what kind of style or look that his boyfriend would like, and he’s quick to reply and share with her all the information that he can pull from his extensive years of learning tiny little details about Suguru.

They talk through band width, stone options, the colour of the gold, and she shows off different rings and tells him all about them and then hastily shows him another—she’s sold him on rose gold, honestly, when she’d asked about skin tone and told him that the warm rose hues would compliment his own tan skin, if they were to go with the same colour for the wedding bands, too. He thinks rose gold would certainly look cute on Suguru.

(Though anything would, really.)

Money isn’t a factor in this. He’s sure it sounds dramatic, and perhaps somewhat stuck-up, but it’s just that he’d spend any amount at all if it were on something that symbolises his ridiculously abundant amount of love for his boyfriend. He knows he’ll probably end up spending even _more_ on the hypothetical wedding rings. There’s not really a price that he can put on the concept of love, be it the ¥200 mochi he picks up as a snack for Suguru on the way back from work, or the ¥200,000 engagement ring. He has enough for that, if it comes down to it. It’s not a problem.

His phone starts to ring while he’s in the middle of asking about sizes and potential adjustments, and he frantically apologises to the store assistant before answering the call.

“Hey,” Suguru's voice on the other end of the line makes him slightly more nervous, as if feeling like he’s about to be caught doing something he shouldn’t be, “where are you?”

“I’m out.”

“Yeah, I got that, asshole,” Suguru deadpans, a hint of amusement evident in his tone, “I’m home and you’re not here. What are you doing?”

Tetsurou hesitates, not realising that he’s apparently been gone long enough for practice to end, glancing down at his watch— _three p.m._ —and then sheepishly eyeing the assistant, panicked; she pulls a face like she’s completely aware of his situation and is at least _somewhat_ sympathetic towards him. He clicks his tongue against his teeth as he turns to look out the storefront window.

“I’m, _uhh…”_ he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck despite knowing Suguru can’t see him, “…just grabbing some lunch. Do you want anything?”

There’s a sudden pause that’s _far_ too long, and Tetsurou awaits the incoming questioning as he shifts his focus back to the rings on the countertop, knowing he’ll have to make a leave soon and he’s already narrowed it down to two choices that conveniently wouldn’t need any adjustments—

“You know, if you assumed that I wouldn’t be able to recognise when you’re lying after almost six years, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I ever thought, Tetsu,” Suguru sighs, not exactly an _annoyed_ noise but just something dismissive, and he continues on, “whatever it is you’re up to, make sure to bring me back some onigiri.”

And then he hangs up, ever the eloquent one on the phone, and Tetsurou huffs out a relieved breath as he slides his phone back into his pocket. If Suguru didn’t question him now, then he’ll _definitely_ get around to it later, but Tetsurou is sure that he can provide enough distractions until he gets around to popping the question; the thought alone suddenly pales him. He swallows, anxiety bubbling back up, and flexes his fingers at his side before steeling himself and taking a final certain glance at the rings atop the counter.

He’s heading home an hour later with a bag full of snacks—onigiri included—in one hand, a takeout bag of lunch from Suguru’s favourite place in the other, and his backpack carefully carries a bottle of fancy wine—for _later_ —and a tiny, tiny little box, neatly wrapped and perfectly hidden.

(He happens to make an extra stop on the way, eyes distracted by the beautiful colours in the window display of a local florists, and he ends up switching his plastic bags to one arm so he can easily carry the bouquet of red roses back home.)

* * *

“I’m home!” Tetsurou calls, nudging the door closed with his foot as he juggles the stuff in his hands, “Sugu, come here.”

There’s a loud groan from the lounge, and Tetsurou puts the bags on the floor as he quickly hides the flowers behind his back, toeing his shoes off and listening to the approaching footsteps get louder.

Suguru rounds the corner, hair wet from a shower, fitted t-shirt and sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and Tetsurou’s hand twitches with the desire to drop the bouquet and reach forward to pull him into a kiss; he stays put, grinning when his boyfriend folds his arms and leans against the wall, an eyebrow raised slightly.

“What?” He tilts his head, “did you remember to grab food? I’m going to starve to death, seriously.”

“You’re not,” Tetsurou argues, “you know how to cook, stop being so dramatic.”

He receives nothing but a sarcastic smile in return, _overly_ sweet, and the two of them stare each other down for a minute before Tetsurou cracks, recognising the small twitch of Suguru’s eyebrow as a sign of impatience. He pulls the flowers out from behind his back, offering them forward, and then he watches carefully, the way Suguru’s eyes widen for a split second before he fixes his face back to neutrality, the dimple in his left cheek twitching as he holds back a smile.

“Thanks,” he says, slowly, fingers brushing when his hands overlap Tetsurou’s to take the bouquet, “what’s the occasion?”

“Nothin’,” Tetsurou replies casually, perhaps a little too quickly if Suguru’s narrowed eyes are anything to go by, so he glares back, “what, I need a _reason_ to buy you flowers?”

Suguru scoffs as he turns, heading towards the kitchen, and Tetsurou happily follows him, carrying the bags of food with him.

“Yeah, because you usually shower me with gifts when you’ve done something wrong, or because you want something from me.”

He watches as Suguru carefully rests the bouquet on the table, leaning up to take the empty flower vase off the windowsill and idly washing it out before he fills it with some fresh water.

“Well, _that’s_ not true,” Tetsurou starts to unpack their lunch, putting it out on the kitchen table, “I’m just being kind, is that so hard to believe?”

The roses sit beautifully in the centre of the window, pretty and bright, and next to them, Suguru turns around, just as beautiful—if not even more so—before he levels Tetsurou with a _telling_ stare, mouth quirked up into a smirk and his silence saying everything it needs in response to that question.

Tetsurou walked right into that one.

He rolls his eyes, fond, and offers a quiet mumble of _“you’re a jerk”_ under his breath when he slides past Suguru to get to the sink, laughing lightly at the equally quiet _“uh-huh”_ he hears from beside him. He washes his hands and ignores Suguru prodding annoyingly at his side.

“There’s onigiri in that other bag,” he nods vaguely towards the table, “and some snacks, for _after_ lunch—”

“Oh,” Suguru interrupts as if he’s seemed to suddenly remember something, pinching at Tetsurou’s waist for no real reason as he shuffles past him, “I have to feed Rainy, hang on.”

Tetsurou laughs while he dries his hands.

“You and that frog,” he muses, making sure Suguru can still hear him from in the lounge, “sometimes I think you love her more than me.”

“Well, she’s certainly cuter,” Suguru responds after a few minutes, padding back into the kitchen with his hands held out in front of him as he wanders towards the sink, “don’t get _jealous_ , Tetsu-kun.”

Tetsurou settles at the table, rearranging their lunch to within comfortable reach and then waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Make sure you wash your hands properly, _Sugu-chan_ , I don’t want insect germs near my food.”

Suguru laughs loudly at that, unabashed and pretty and a sound that has Tetsurou so, _so_ enamoured, and when he eventually turns away from the sink—flicking his wet hands towards Tetsurou and purposely spraying droplets of water towards him—Tetsurou thinks _yeah, this is the man I’m going to marry._

He doesn’t doubt himself for even a _second_.

* * *

By the time the evening rolls around, sun setting and the lights turned low in their lounge, room illuminated with nothing but the bright glow of the television, Tetsurou is sure that he’s dripping sweat. It’s honestly disgusting, but he’s so unnaturally nervous that it isn’t even funny.

Suguru is sprawled across his lap, head on his thighs and Tetsurou’s fingers distractedly playing with his hair, and he rambles on about something that Tetsurou will admit he’s kind of not listening to because he’s too busy _thinking_.

He doesn’t have a plan, or anything, for this proposal. He didn’t exactly think this far ahead, because his brain processed _“I want to marry him”_ and then made the immediate leap of just _doing it_ , going out to buy the ring and then… giving up. He’s not sure what comes next—besides _asking_ , of course, but it’s not that simple and his stomach is churning with a strange mixture of anxiety and excitement and everything is so overwhelming that it _hurts_.

He wonders, briefly, if he _should_ have planned it, if his impulsivity is perhaps bad, or abnormal, that maybe most people don’t just wake up one morning and decide to get engaged and have the entire situation take place in a single day, he’s sure that this kind of thing usually takes weeks or months or at least has some sort of serious organization go into it—but it’s not as if he isn’t serious, or like he hasn’t thought about it for _years_.

There’s no one else that Tetsurou would rather spend the rest of his life with than Daishou Suguru. There’s _never_ been anyone else. It has always, _always_ , been Suguru.

It was Suguru when they were eleven and had met for the first time, Kenma hiding behind Tetsurou as the new kid approached them and asked if he could play volleyball with them, when he had spiked the ball down past Tetsurou’s head and grinned with a wide, smug smirk that had Tetsurou absolutely _fascinated_.

It was Suguru when they were thirteen and Tetsurou had pinky-promised to be his friend forever, when they were fourteen and Suguru had told him he was going to Nohebi high school and when they were fifteen, when Tetsurou had stared at the boy opposite him in the green and yellow uniform and with the nasty sneer that was so unlike him that Tetsurou couldn’t help but to keep watching, keep trying to figure out what, exactly, had changed.

It was Suguru when they were sixteen, seventeen, under the dim lights of a volleyball storage cupboard, a tentative and awkward press of lips followed by flushed cheeks and wide eyes and Suguru running away, and it was _still_ Suguru when they were eighteen and he had narrowed his eyes at Tetsurou like he _knew_ , like he felt it too, tongue sticking out and middle finger going up and back turning with nothing to say; Tetsurou would wait forever if he had to, because it was _always_ him.

(They were twenty-one when they had started talking properly again, a little more mature, their arguing and bickering turned playful and their hastily stolen glances filled with something akin to longing. Twenty-three was the tipping point, the messy culmination of all their years of teenage stupidity, hands in hair and lips pressing hotly against skin as they kissed and fumbled their way through all the feelings they could never quite put into words.)

They’re twenty-eight now, Suguru turning twenty-nine in a few months, and they’ve perfected the art of saying _“I love you”_ with a comfortable ease.

It hasn’t always been smooth sailing, of course, because Suguru is a difficult bastard sometimes—on purpose, too—and Tetsurou is aware that he’s not exactly the easiest person to get along with, but they’re grown-ups, they’re mature, and they manage to continue to live together even when Suguru rearranges the contents of the kitchen cupboards and moves things around and Kuroo can’t find anything, or when Tetsurou swaps their bedsheets with the new ones he bought and Suguru mopes until they’re changed back because he doesn’t like the texture; being with Daishou Suguru is easy, because there’s nothing more natural than simply being in love with him.

Tetsurou takes a deep breath in.

He knows Suguru. It’s going to be fine.

“Hey,” he nudges Suguru’s shoulder, “let me up, I have a surprise for you.”

Suguru turns to peer up at him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrow like he’s _suspicious_ , trying to guess, and Tetsurou only stares blankly back.

“What is it?”

“A surprise,” Tetsurou repeats, “are you gonna move, or what?”

 _“Fine,”_ is all Suguru huffs out before lifting himself up and clambering to sit properly on the couch.

Tetsurou tries his best to _casually_ walk to their bedroom, hands sweaty and heart beating painfully fast against his ribcage as he approaches his backpack, fumbling through all of his junk to look for the small box and eventually finding it safe and sound at the bottom. He carefully slides it into the front pocket of his oversized hoodie, hidden, and then he pauses. Collects himself. Waits for a second— _two, three, four_ —and just breathes, in, out.

It’s going to be _fine_.

“Sugu!” He calls, leaning slightly out of the bedroom doorway, “close your eyes!”

There’s a quiet mumble of _“alright”_ , and he rolls his eyes, making sure the ring box really is hidden properly because he _knows_ Suguru still has his eyes open.

Each step back to the lounge makes Tetsurou’s legs feel like jelly, like he’s floating, and he’s sure he looks as nervous as he feels when he stops in front of Suguru, folding his arms and eyeing him with a faux-annoyance.

“Close your eyes,” he says again, and Suguru blinks at him for a moment before dramatically sighing and scrunching his eyes shut, waving a hand towards his face as if to say _“done”_.

Tetsurou swallows down the sick feeling clawing its way through his chest.

He slowly gets down onto one knee and carefully, with his hands shaking, pulls the ring box out to rest in his clammy palms.

“Okay,” he breathes, barely able to get his words out, glancing up at Suguru’s pretty face, “you can open them, now.”

It feels like the world stops spinning when he watches Suguru open his eyes, seconds that feel like minutes—hours, _days_ —passing between them, time slowed enough for him to watch the flicker of recognition that passes over his face, the realisation of what this is quickly settling in as he swallows audibly and then breathes out an almost silent _“fuck”_.

Tetsurou steels himself, thinking, figuring out the right words to say before he weakly opens his mouth.

“Daishou Suguru,” he starts, slow and certain, his cheeks burning and fingers twitching and his eyes reluctantly fixed on Suguru’s equally flushed face, “you are… everything to me. I can’t even begin to imagine my life without you in it, but I know that it would absolutely _suck_.”

Suguru laughs at that, a shaky little noise, and Tetsurou presses on, slightly more confident as the words keep coming.

“You mean the world to me, and I’ve loved you since—since forever, _always_ , I seriously can’t think of a time when I _didn’t_ love you, even back in high school when you were super mean to me but you would look at me almost like how you do now, and I knew, I _knew_ , that I was going to be in love with you forever.”

He’s sure that he’s rambling, but he can’t let there just be _silence_ , and now that he’s started he’s not really sure that he can stop.

“You’re it for me, Suguru, and if you’d let me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he hesitates then, nervously glancing around at their dim lounge before steadily opening the box in his hands, fingers almost slipping when Suguru lets out a soft gasp, “I know it’s not much, this whole thing, it’s not exactly like this is a proposal fit for a romantic movie, I’m sorry—”

“Tetsurou,” Daishou mumbles, voice quavering slightly, unsteady, “you talk too much. Just ask me, already.”

The tips of his ears are a bright red, glowing, cheeks blossoming with a similar colour, and his eyes are unfairly glossy; Tetsurou _will_ start crying if Suguru does. That’s just a given, he can’t help being a sympathetic crier.

“Okay, alright,” Tetsurou bites his lip, mouth twitching with holding back a stupidly obnoxious smile, “Daishou Suguru, will you ma—”

“Yes,” Suguru interrupts, leaning forward to fist his hands into Tetsurou’s hoodie and clumsily pulling at him, desperately dragging him closer, “you fucking—you _idiot_ , yes, I’ll marry you.”

Tetsurou is tugged up onto the couch, finding himself clambering into Suguru’s lap because it’s really the _only_ place he can go, cautiously holding the ring box in his hand still as he settles chest-to-chest against his boyf—his fiancé.

His _fiancé_.

He’s grinning so wide that he thinks his cheeks are going to tear. Suguru is staring at him with an equally enamoured expression, nothing but pure happiness, and he only gets to look at him for a second before he’s being kissed, arms wrapping around his waist and a mouth pressing fervently against his, messy and misaligned and clashing with too much teeth, both of them smiling too hard to even make it work; there’s a sudden spot of damp against Tetsurou’s cheek, smearing with their movements, and he pulls back just enough to notice the rest of the tears threatening to spill from Suguru’s eyes.

“Oh _no,_ come on, don’t _cry_ —” Tetsurou laughs under his breath, his own eyes suddenly starting to burn, “at least let me—”

He leans back, giving enough space to hold the ring box between them, and Suguru sniffles like he’s trying to stop his tears as he shakily holds his hand out. Tetsurou worries he’s going to _drop_ the fucking ring, with how sweaty his hands are, and his fingers are trembling when he eventually manages to slide it into place, tossing the box back into his pocket.

They both stare at it for a moment, the pretty pink band wrapped perfectly around Suguru’s finger, hiding a very small diamond on the inside surface, and then Suguru suddenly laughs, giddy and carefree; Tetsurou, both hands finally free, cradles Suguru’s face, palms warm against his red cheeks as he gently brushes his thumbs to wipe away the wetness below his eyes. He sniffs, blinking profusely as he feels a stray tear drop from his own eyes, and he laughs softly when Suguru only smiles wider.

“No more crying,” Tetsurou jokes, “you _know_ I’ll end up bawling along with you.”

“Not my fault you’re a baby,” Suguru teases, hands slipping to link around the back of Tetsurou’s neck, the ring cold against his skin, and then he mumbles a sickeningly sincere _“I love you”_ before pressing forward to kiss Tetsurou properly, slow and soft and _familiar_ —natural, perfect, just the two of them fitting together like they were always meant to and always have, like they’ll continue to do _forever_.

“I love you so much,” Tetsurou breathes out between kisses, words muffled against Suguru’s lips.

The wide grin he gets in response is positively blinding.

* * *

They’d agreed on _“properly”_ celebrating their engagement later, a night in with just each other and the wine that Tetsurou had bought, unreasonably excited, like they’ve never had alcohol before; but right now, they’re in the car, with Tetsurou driving them to a fancy restaurant to grab dinner that Suguru had _insisted_ on paying for.

(“I don’t want to know how much you spent on this,” he’d said, eyeing his ring with genuine reverence, “you’re letting me take you out tonight— _and_ we’re getting dessert. I mean it, Tetsu.”)

The night sky is dark and beautiful, stars shining and moon illuminating the roads, and Suguru is quietly singing along to the radio when Tetsurou decides to interrupt the peace.

 _“So,”_ he drawls, “what do you think about Kuroo Suguru—”

“Not a chance,” Suguru says easily, waving a hand dismissively, “it’s Daishou Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou shifts his gaze to the side for a quick second, eyeing him curiously, and then looks back at the road.

“You sound awfully confident in that decision.”

 _“Uh-huh,”_ Suguru hums, far too smug and simply _demanding_ that Tetsurou spares another glance his way. He’s met with a handsome smirk, Suguru’s eyes sparkling and his cheeks flushed pink and his skin glowing as if he were the moon itself.

“I’ve thought about it before,” he reveals.

Tetsurou nearly crashes the car.

He can’t believe he gets to spend the rest of his life with this man.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i think daishou has a pet frog, sue me (shes named rainy after the animal crossing character, lily, bc its her japanese name and i think its cute!!)
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! find me on _[twitter](https://twitter.com/cryptozoologys)_ and have a lovely day/evening/night! <3


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